


The Chaos of His Stars

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Snarry-A-Thon16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:58:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Severus Snape wakes from an injury sustained during an attack on the Ministry, he’s surprised to find Harry Potter by his bedside. Harry Potter, who he’s been dreaming about for the last three months and he’s loved in secret for longer than he cares to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chaos of His Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to T for supporting me and cheerleading and to A for a SPaG check. Thank you to the ever patient mods for running one of my favourite fandom fests and for being so tolerant and supportive amidst numerous setbacks. Thanks very much to Badgerlady for a super speedy SPaG check.

You make him promises at night when there’s only the ghosts, the shadows and him. The sky is rich velvet and it hums with the chaos of the hundred pin-point stars that burn endlessly. The scorched earth cracks beneath your feet and the two of you entwine in the dance of careless lovers who plan to live forever in one another’s arms.

He kisses you hard and fast; sweet and slow. He kisses you under the light of the sun and – later – when the shifting shadows cast by moonlit skies afford you privacy. You won’t forget kisses like that in a hurry, not even if you live to be as old as a wizard can be. You’re not carved from stone, no matter what everyone might think. There’s nothing that brings you to life like the recollection of lazy, sun-drenched kisses and a whispered promise of forever.

“Do you plan to leave?” It’s safe to say such things when the sun sets on the day and he can’t see the heat in your cheeks or read the desperation in your eyes. Sometimes it feels like you’ve been waiting to find love for so long. To lose it in a cruel flash of green is something you’re not prepared to allow – whatever the cost. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. His smile is as bright as his eyes and his kisses settle sun-warm on your skin. You’ve been cold for too long and his kisses remind you of that. He doesn’t need the cover of night to tell you the things you’ve waited a lifetime to hear. He’s full of fearless confidence and makes his promises under the warm glow of the morning. He finds you on those days when it’s so bright you can almost forget the night and the things that haunt you, lurking in the shadows. 

Together you slide from darkness to sunshine and back again. You’re caught somewhere between madness and sanity, between sleep and waking. His skin is fire smoke and whisky. His neck is light, musky soap. His lips are chocolate and sun, hot and eager against yours. Your mind floods with him and your heart beats in time with the whispered syllables of your name in the dark room of your mind.

“Just you and me, yeah?” He’s earnest and unusually serious. With the heavy robes of authority and Ministry duty heavy around his shoulders, his hand slips into yours and he whispers again. “Just you and me.”

Yes. God, yes. You hold him close and kiss him breathless. Keep him wrapped in strong arms and take the nightmares away until he’s smiling like the sun on a hot summer’s day. You touch him in the moonstruck night when the silver light slides against his skin. You lift his hand to your lips and whisper your promise with a kiss. 

_Promise him again until he hears, until he never forgets._

All that time they shine for you, those hundred fragile stars that appear on the cusp of sunset.

Your step falters and he’s fading. A beautiful, broken boy you want to keep whole and alive. You want to keep him safe – boxed up and brilliant with all those other hopeless dreams you’ve harboured for so long.

_Run, Harry. Run._

_Run, like there might not be another day to live or another breath to take. Run as fast as you can and find yourself somewhere safe, somewhere warm. Fight, like a glorious hero. Leave them star struck, leave them breathless. Keep your wand out, arm stretched towards the sun._

You shout his name as the curse rips through your veins. You make a dying man’s plea for him to stay flesh, blood and bone. 

_Don’t become another memorial etched in bronze and gold. Live to see tomorrow._

“Don’t cry for me,” you say. It hurts as much to look at him as it does to speak. He doesn’t know you plan to haunt him jealously – that he won’t be rid of you no matter how much he tries. You’re not as good as he believes you to be. You never were. Even now when you look at the bold structure of his face you remember the bright smile of his father and the insolent laugh of Sirius Black. The green eyes of his mother remind you of your greatest mistakes – of a bitter, cruel man that nobody will mourn. Hate, love and misunderstanding. It all flashes before your eyes in a blur of colour until it’s just Harry weeping and whispering your name like a prayer.

You don’t deserve his tears. Your name on his lips, over and over. His mouth stings as it presses against yours – chapped and damp with salt water tears. When he pulls back his broken smile shines in the light of the unflinching moon.

“Of course I’m not going to cry for you, idiot. Nothing to cry for, is there? Because you’re going to live. You’re going to _live_.”

You’re not sure he’s right, but in that moment you want him to be. Harry’s hand clutches yours and you gather him close until you’re holding one another and the strong warmth of his body against yours gives you hope. You close your eyes and pretend you’ll dance forever. You and Harry under the shattered night and the faded glow of the restless stars.

And you stay awake in his arms for as long as you can before the midnight swallows you whole.

*

There’s a part of Severus that expects to wake in a world full of darkness and pain, where Harry Potter’s a broken war memorial and a name people vaguely remember. The Boy Who Didn’t Live. There’s a larger part of him that doesn’t expect to wake at all, his bones creaking in protest and his limbs heavy and sluggish from too long in bed.

He swallows his water, taken from an outstretched hand. The sunlight hurts his eyes, which is comfort of a sort. The sun wouldn't be shining if the Ministry had fallen. 

People are muttering about him. “Speak up,” he rasps. He can’t abide being talked about behind his back.

“Don’t overexert yourself, Severus.”

“I’m hardly planning to tap dance, Poppy.” Severus turns his head and ignores the flash of pain which travels from his shoulder to his thigh. “What day is it?”

“Monday.” Poppy’s lips twitch and she mops Severus’ brow in an infuriating manner. 

“What _year_ is it,” he persists. He’s probably woken up just in time to expire from old age. He flexes his hand and narrows his eyes at the skin which appears relatively unchanged.

“It’s been three months since the attack on the Ministry. Do you remember?”

“I’m hardly likely to forget being on the wrong end of Yaxley’s curses.” Severus closes his eyes and another wave of pain pulses through his veins. Three months is no time at all, yet it’s difficult to focus on reality when he’s been immersed in his dreams for so long. “Potter?”

“Alive and kicking. He was quite the hero.” Poppy sounds incredibly fond, proud and motherly. She continues dabbing a sponge on Severus’ face and he bats her away.

“Of course he was. I imagine he couldn’t help himself.” Severus makes sure he sounds as if he couldn’t care less, the relief washing over him in waves. More lives than a Kneazle, that blasted, infuriating boy. Of course he survived. 

“Hush now, Severus. You have a visitor.” Poppy sounds amused.

“I’m not exactly fit to entertain.” Nevertheless, Severus cracks his eyes open to find himself nearly nose to nose with Potter.

“Hi, Professor.” Potter hovers, uncertain. Severus is about to shove him away when it appears Potter might be angling for some kind of dry kiss on his forehead. Severus might be frail and aching from his hair cuticles to his toe nails but he’s not going to allow Potter to mollycoddle him in such a manner.

“Potter.” Severus hasn’t yet mastered the art of speaking at a regular volume, but even at its weakest his tone is mercifully enough for Potter to get the message. He clears his throat and sits back, maintaining a respectable distance. He looks as good as ever he did, the pinkish bloom on his cheeks appealing to Severus far more than it should. His clothes fit him perfectly these days – distressed brown leather with a warm sheepskin lining slung casually over a t-shirt bearing the name of a Muggle band Severus doesn’t recognise.

_Your fingers slide over his hips and your knuckles press along the length of his spine. He’s fit, strong and hard against you. He rocks forward, breath leaving him in a rush. You grip his jaw and he sighs like he’s been wanting this forever._

_You kiss him in the sunset. The night is yours._

Severus closes his eyes momentarily, only opening them again when Potter starts talking.

“It’s brilliant to see you up and about.” Potter waves his hand, colour blooming in his cheeks. “Well, awake at least. It’s progress, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” Severus arches an eyebrow at Potter. “How does Harry Potter find out I’m awake before I’ve barely had chance to open my eyes?”

“I was in the area.” Potter’s a terrible liar. “Besides, I’ve been asking Poppy to keep me up to date on your progress.”

Severus blinks at Potter. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because.” Potter shrugs. He’s behaving very strangely. He keeps fidgeting and gives Poppy the kind of look that indicates he’s up to something. Severus knows that look too well. It’s Potter’s _I hope I won’t be in trouble_ look. Invariably, Potter absolutely will be in trouble if Severus has anything to say on the matter.

“Potter, if there’s something-”

“How do you feel?” Potter cuts Severus off with a bright smile and the flush in his cheek deepens. He inches forward, his hand settling close to Severus’ clenched fist. Severus tells himself the fact he doesn’t pull away has nothing to do with the fact he rather likes the proximity and everything to do with trying to move as little as possible.

“Just dandy.” Severus glares at Potter. He’s a ridiculous boy. “I understand you’re to be congratulated on another bout of reckless heroism. Edging ever closer to thirty hasn’t dampened that Gryffindor foolishness.”

“Not a lot,” Potter agrees. “Perhaps I ought to buy a pipe and some slippers to prepare for old age. I’ve been thinking of taking a break and Godric’s Hollow’s habitable now.” He winks and doesn’t sound bothered by Severus’ accusations in the slightest. 

“I hardly think you’re in any danger of reaching retirement age just yet.” If anybody should be retiring from public duty it’s most definitely Severus. Potter’s as charmed as ever, even in battle. He looks fit and healthy, supple in all the right places. Severus, on the other hand, is forced to cozy up to Dark wizards or fend off demented snakes.

“You’re the one that suggested it.” Potter holds up his hands in a gesture of defense, his eyes shining. “I’m not in any rush to leave the Ministry just yet, although sometimes I reckon the quiet life wouldn’t be so bad.”

Severus snorts. “You’re not really the type to seek out a quiet life, Potter. You’ll be trying to pull off Wronski Feints long into old age.” Severus has a horrible feeling Potter’s going to be foolhardy for the rest of his years – the kind of wizard who takes up Hippogriff flying on his eightieth birthday. 

_Lazy morning kisses, fingers sticky with jam. Citrus and hot, tea-warm lips. Sunshine, at last. You kiss him and drink in the silence like whisky._

“You’re using Quidditch terms to insult me?” Potter’s lips twitch and he looks quite delighted. “I didn’t think you liked Quidditch.”

“I don’t.” Severus scowls at Potter. “I may not enjoy flinging myself around on a broom in front of a captive audience, but I’m capable of reading a newspaper on occasion. A passing knowledge of the infernal sport is unavoidable.”

“It’s been three months, so you probably don’t know the Cannons came twenty third in the league. Ron was dead proud. He didn’t even care that they would have come last if the Puddlemere Seeker hadn’t bought half the team down with a nasty bout of Spattergroit.” Potter laughs and its warmth fills the quiet room. 

Severus turns his eyes to the ceiling. “How fortunate you’re here. I’m not sure what I would do without someone on hand to keep me apprised of the Quidditch scores.”

“I aim to please.” There’s a smile in Potter’s voice and Severus has the distinct impression he’s being teased. With the sun shining through the infirmary and the warmth of Potter’s tone, Severus could be in one of his dreams again.

He shakes that thought off and steers the conversation away from Quidditch. “You have more lives than a Kneazle.”

Potter’s smile doesn’t falter and it’s more disarming than it has any right to be. “You sound almost disappointed that I survived.”

Severus curses the heat which flares in his cheeks and he avoids meeting Potter’s eyes. “If that’s how you wish to take it.”

“Actually, I don’t think I will, if it’s all the same to you.” Potter’s hand nudges closer until his thumb moves in slow circles against Severus’ skin. “Does it hurt?”

Severus swallows because he can’t begin to answer that question with Potter’s thumb stroking over his skin, warm and soothing. The voice which haunted every damn dream and nightmare Severus can remember after the attack on the Ministry sets his heart pounding. He’s alive. Harry Potter. Alive and holding onto Severus, murmuring something to Poppy about _letting him sleep_ in a rich, deep tone.

“Harry’s been so worried. He visits you every day. Particularly after the…well.” Poppy stops. There’s something they’re not telling him and when in the name of buggery did Potter start thinking it was okay to _hold his hand_?

“Potter?”

“Yeah?” Harry leans close as if Severus is going to impart some wise information or deathbed confession. He smells like chocolate, soap and broom polish. 

“Kindly bugger off.”

Severus falls asleep to the sound of Potter laughing and slides into another place from another time.

*

You never forget kisses like that. Urgent, desperate things that fall onto your lips with a whimper and a murmur of _please_.

His skin is warm and slick with beads of perspiration. His heart pounds beneath your palm and the whisper of the night takes you both somewhere unexpected. That first kiss in the sunshine brought you both here, deep into the shadows of the night and the sensuous rustle of cotton sheets against skin.

Potter’s breathless, his hair upended and askew. He licks his lips, already kiss-starved even though you can’t remember a time when you weren’t kissing Potter – kissing _Harry_.

“I don’t reckon I’ll ever get tired of this.”

You’re certain he will and your heart aches with it. You push aside those worn-out doubts and memories of a boy nobody was able to love. You’re not going back to the place where the light hurts your eyes and everything’s broken. You’re going to spend one more reckless moment in Harry’s arms if it’s the last thing you do. 

There’s something dream-like about the way the stars flicker and shine. There’s something maddeningly unreal about being in this position with Harry – just another fleeting moment your heart doesn’t deserve and your body isn’t prepared for. 

You kiss Harry again, losing yourself in the slide of Harry’s tongue against your own and the way his hot breath ghosts over your jawline. Harry’s never been more handsome than he is now – years after the war – hard bodied with a lightly stubbled chin and the widest, brightest eyes.

Harry’s moving down your body, his lips urgent and his mouth leaving a trail of damp kisses and he’s so close. You grip your hand in Harry’s hair, urging him lower until a jolt of pain shakes you from him and everything turns to dust.

*

“Professor?”

“What?” Severus can’t help but snap at Potter whose hand is now clammy, clutching onto Severus tightly. He tips his head and Potter’s got a flushed, unsteady look about him. He clears his throat and shifts in his seat as if he’s in some discomfort. Severus can’t shake the sensation of having a warm blanket yanked away from him. 

“I think we need to talk.”

“What on earth would I have to say to you?” Severus looks around and the ward’s empty, the sun setting on the day. 

“Quite a lot, actually.” Potter winces and that look’s back again – the _I’m going to be in trouble_ look. 

Severus scowls at Potter. “Where’s Poppy? I expect to talk to a trained medical professional, not a former student who couldn’t slice a flobberworm if his life depended on it.”

Potter snorts and he slides his hand from Severus’. He worries at his hair, clutching it in thick tufts and tugging it into a peculiar shape. Perhaps that’s how people wear their hair these days. Severus wouldn’t know, or care.

“Do you remember much about the attack and the stuff we were working on?”

Severus closes his eyes and winces at a flash of pain which has nothing to do with his injuries. “Yes. A group of former Death Eaters and new sympathisers with the cause launched a series of attacks on high-profile Wizarding targets around the world. We were working together to try to prevent an attack on the Ministry. An attack Kingsley believed to be imminent.” 

“For months,” Potter clarifies. It’s as if he thinks Severus is some kind of simpleton. “We worked together for months.” 

“I’m temporarily incapacitated _physically_. My entire body feels as though I’ve been trampled on by a herd of stampeding Hippogriffs.” Severus frowns at Harry. “My mind, however, is working perfectly.” 

The idea that Severus would forget his work with Potter is laughable for reasons unbeknownst to Potter. Severus remembers those long, hot summer days with Potter in a cool lab or poring over books in the cavernous Ministry library. On occasion, his senses fill with the scent of freshly cut grass and the warmth of Potter’s skin against his own when their hands brushed over one voluminous tome or another. Most of all he remembers Potter’s leg pressed against his own as they studied, hip to hip. He remembers cold beers at the Leaky Cauldron and endless late night chats about the best way to thwart the attack. He could hardly forget the taste of whisky on his lips and the glow of firelight on Potter’s face when those stolen hours became as important to Severus as anything – or anyone – has ever been.

“I remember too.” Potter gives Severus a strange look. He studies Severus closely, his eyes flashing in the half-light of dusk. His face breaks into a smile which is full of warmth and light. It’s breathtaking sometimes, the way Potter smiles. His face is an open book and his goodness and strength hum in the room, the slide of his magic on skin like nothing Severus has ever felt before. 

“What of it?” Severus closes his eyes and breathes with a shudder. Potter’s proximity and the memory of their tentative acquaintance fills Severus’ senses.

“I bet it came as a surprise to you.”

“Very little surprises me these days.” Severus purses his lips. He relents when the silence stretches for too long between them. “What do you believe surprised me?”

“Our working together without killing one another.” Potter tips his head and continues to contemplate Severus. “You told me I surprised you, once.”

“Did I?” Severus passes his hand over his face. A moment of madness and too much firewhisky, no doubt. Beguiled by bright green eyes and long, hot summer nights with Potter by his side. “I expect I was drunk.”

Potter huffs with laughter. “Yeah, that’d do it. Funny thing is though, I don’t think there was any firewhisky involved.”

Severus huffs. Just his foolish heart, then. He glances at Potter. “I admit your willingness to conduct research was unexpected.”

Potter laughs. “Yeah, I’m not usually one for the books. For what it’s worth, you surprised me too. I didn’t ever think we could ever work together– let alone become friends.”

“Is that what we were?” Severus looks away.

“It’s what we still are, I hope. You tell me.” Potter’s voice is soft, questioning. “I thought we had something, anyway.”

_Another dusty sunset, sycamore rich air and Harry’s hand in yours. Roll him onto warm, sun-scorched grass and claim his lips with yours. Caress him. Learn him. Trace on flesh with tongue. Touch every bit of him._

_Listen to the way his heart beats and kiss him. Kiss him until the stars come out._

“Severus?” Potter’s voice falters, uncertainty clouding his features. 

“Don’t fuss.” Severus rolls his eyes. “We were something. Colleagues, I believe. Friends is something of an overstatement.”

“I don’t know why you can’t just be nice for once.” Potter glares at Severus. He hooks his ankle over his knee and leans back in his chair. One leg lifts from the floor and the chair teeters precariously. Severus grits his teeth and swallows back a snappish comment about Potter’s seemingly irrepressible desire to endanger himself. 

“Because I’m not a nice man.” Severus rubs his eyes and casts a look out of the window. The sun has now fully set and his skin thrums with Potter’s magic as Potter casts quick spells to light the candles nearby. “Remind me why you’re here again?” 

Potter pockets his wand and shrugs. “I was worried. Because you’re more than a _colleague_ to me, even if you’re determined to be blind as a bat about it.” 

Severus doesn’t dignify that with a response. “It’s all just semantics, Potter. Whatever we were, it did us little good. Yaxley and the others attacked the Ministry nonetheless.”

“Yes.” A shadow crosses Potter’s face. “We fought them, though. They’re in Azkaban or dead. They won’t be back.”

“At what cost?” Severus studies Potter, whose face is shadowed. Although Potter is as rugged and handsome as ever, his jawline is less cleanshaven than usual and he has shadows under his eyes. There’s a tremble in his hand when he rubs his cheek and his cheekbones are a little more defined than usual. He’s lost weight. Not enough to notice at first, but some.

“We lost ten people.” Potter doesn’t elaborate on the who or the how. “Ten of the best.”

“You survived. I wondered…” Severus breathes out, the memory of Potter’s hand outstretched as he fought relentlessly still etched on his mind.

“You too.” Potter gives Severus a smile and it’s like being back there, caught in the light of the setting sun and desperate to lean closer and claim something Severus knows he can never have. Another foolish hope.

The light from the candles flickers and Potter stands, pacing. His shoes squeak against the highly polished infirmary floor. He leans against the window ledge and stares outside, his shoulders tense. 

“I always like it when you can see the stars. Do you know how many stars you can see at Godric’s Hollow?”

“More than in London, I imagine.” Severus takes a moment to admire the long, straight line of his back and the curve and slope of his backside in his well-fitting trousers. Potter’s clearly been taking fashion tips since the war and despite his post-battle weariness he still looks as good as ever he has – strong and athletic. 

“Way more. Like, hundreds more. When I spent my first night there it was like looking at a different sky. I haven’t seen stars like that since Hogwarts.” Potter sounds wistful.

“Indeed.” Severus can’t remember taking the time to look at the stars outside of his dreams. In those, the stars burn brighter than any he recalls seeing in the night sky. They preside over heated kisses and whispers of forever. Like Potter, Severus has grown to like the stars. “Do you plan to live in Godric’s Hollow when the works are complete?”

“Maybe.” Potter turns, catching Severus in the act of staring. He raises his eyebrows and then runs a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping him. “Severus? There’s something else I have to tell you. Something we noticed after the attack.”

Severus narrows his eyes, glaring at Potter. He knew there was something. Potter’s had a sheepish look about him from the moment he arrived. “Well, spit it out.”

“I started to have the strangest dreams. Do you know the kind?” Potter’s voice is low and quiet, his gaze questioning.

“I’ve had peculiar dreams in my time, Potter.” A heat steals over Severus’ cheeks and he yanks the duvet up to his chin, ignoring the sharp sting of pain which flares in his arm. A wave of panic passes over him because he has strange dreams too. He can’t remember the last time his dreams weren’t full of Harry.

_You want to kiss him. Lazy kisses, hot from the afternoon sun. Ice-cream sweet vanilla. He kisses like a hero should, passion warm on his finger tips and heavy on his whispered words._

Severus swallows back the nausea rolling in his stomach, fragments from three months of half-forgotten sleep turning like a kaleidoscope in his mind. It takes him a moment to realise Potter’s still talking.

“I think it’s something to do with the spells we worked on before the attack. I have the dreams even when I'm awake. I have done since you were injured.” Potter lets out a peculiar laugh, dry and brittle. “It took me so long to realise they weren't my dreams at all.” 

The nausea increases and Severus is tired, furious and a creeping sense of shame crawls along his skin until he burns with it. “Well if they're not _yours_ you have no business snooping.”

“I was hardly snooping.” Potter gives Severus a look. “I tried to stop it with a block or something.” Potter looks sheepish, his cheeks red now. “I’ve always been rubbish at things like that – Occlumency and stuff. You’re stronger than me.”

“How inconvenient.” Severus spits out his words, a furious anger burning through his veins. “It must have been quite disgusting to find yourself privy to the fanciful dreams of an injured man.”

“No, that's not why I wanted to block them.” Potter's brow furrows and he mutters something which almost sounds like _I'd have stayed there forever, if I could_. “I just thought you wouldn't like it, that's all. It felt like I was intruding on something private. Because if you _had_ wanted me to know you felt like that, you'd have just told me. Wouldn't you?”

Severus swallows and he passes his hand over his face, weary from the conversation and the differences between them. Of course Potter’s the sort to imagine it takes just one simple conversation to open your heart and bare your soul. Of course Potter thinks it's that easy. 

“Is that what you believe?” Severus can almost hear the whir of Potter's thoughts.

“Well, it's what I would do, I think. If that was how I felt. If I thought there was a chance of it being reciprocated.”

“And there's the rub,” Severus mutters. He keeps his voice cool and steady and raises his eyes to Potter again. “You should not presume to deduce my feelings from the way my unconscious mind chooses to operate.”

“I’m not.” Potter’s voice remains steady, his gaze unflinching. 

Severus wonders how he could have been so foolish as to allow Potter to see the heart of him, even just for a moment. “After finding yourself privy to my dreams and unable to block them, what did you resolve to do?”

Potter looks confused, as if he's had a revelation and he's still mulling it over. He's distracted when he speaks again. “Well, I couldn't stop it in the end so I just...”

“You just what?” Severus raises his voice as best he can without sending sparks of pain through the length of his body. “You just spied on my personal moments – laughed at thoughts I can’t even _control_. Dreams are just dreams, Potter. They don’t mean a thing.”

Potter recoils and returns to his seat in silence while the minutes tick past. He's still thinking and Severus resists the urge to look beyond Potter's no doubt woeful shields to give himself something of an upper hand. Too often he's wished he could see inside Potter's mind to understand him better and the realisation that Potter has been able to see Severus at his most vulnerable is too mortifying to be borne. 

Eventually, Potter looks up. He tugs his lip between his teeth and studies Severus. “You reckon they don't mean anything? Those dreams of yours?”

“Not a thing.” Severus refuses to look at Potter, folding his hands in his lap and staring pointedly ahead. He would feel markedly less unsettled if he had the benefit of his robes and proper use of his legs, instead of having to clutch the duvet up to his chin to hide the tatty nightgown Poppy obviously obtained from his quarters.

Potter snorts. When he does speak his voice is firm and low. “I don’t think that’s true, though. This isn’t like dreaming about winning a Quidditch cup or having a snog with Oliver Wood.”

“You flatter yourself if you think they’re anything more than dreams.”

“Do I?” Potter holds Severus’ gaze and the silence stretches between them. “They don’t feel like they’re bad dreams, do they? I don’t think whatever’s happening is meant to harm us.”

“No.” Severus’ tiredness crashes over him in waves. His desire to snap and snarl leaves him. “They’re not bad dreams.”

Potter’s lips curve in a smile and he looks almost hopeful. “Poppy thinks there’s something more to it. She says we’re not to block them.”

“What on earth could there be to it? I know more about magic than you and Poppy Pomfrey put together. There’s no situation that could _possibly_ result in-”

“There is, though.” Potter cuts Severus off with a swipe of his hand, his words urgent. “There is.”

“Such as?”

Potter’s breath leaves him in a whoosh. He stares at his hands, before looking up to meet Severus’ gaze again. It almost hurts to look at Potter, knowing the things he’s seen. 

“Those spells we were working on. They were supposed to help us fight, to learn how to share our magic.”

“I know what they were for, Potter. I developed them.” Sometimes Potter is blindingly stupid and Severus finds himself snappish and irritable again.

“Perhaps it's one of those consequences you mentioned.” Potter looks apologetic, as well he might. Severus resists the urge to throttle him. The all too familiar desire takes him back to his rooms where the light from the fire cast shadows over Potter's face and Severus could hardly breathe for wanting him.

_“Don't you see?” Potter's cheeks bloom pink from the whisky and the fire. He's so alive. Severus' heart aches for Potter in this moment, a sensation he's quick to dismiss as indigestion. Any alternative is not to be tolerated. “I'm crap at the stuff you're good at and you're crap at the stuff I'm good at.”_

_“I'm hardly crap at any magic, Potter.” Severus glares at him because sometimes Potter deserves to be glared at._

_“Really?” Potter looks smug. “Let's see your Patronus, then.”_

_Severus' wand hand twitches and he lets out a harrumph. Potter knows all of Severus' weak spots these days, it seems. The doe is no longer something Severus can conjure with any conviction. He's not sure he remembers what true happiness feels like or - perhaps - he's trying to find his happiness in different places now. “I'm not a performing monkey.”_

_“Well, then.” Potter leans forward and he's close enough to take Severus' breath away. “You'll look into it? If there's a way to pool our resources?”_

_“Share our magic?” Severus' heart quickens for reasons he'd rather not dwell on too closely. “There are often consequences when one experiments with advanced magic of that nature.”_

_“Sod the consequences,” Potter says and he's lucky Severus doesn't clout him over the head for that. “You'll do it?”_

_“I'll consider it,” Severus replies._

_They both know he'll do it, because the inconvenient truth of it is there's precious little Severus won't do if there's a chance of keeping Harry alive._

“I'm not a complete imbecile.” Severus studies Potter, still certain there's something Potter isn't saying. “I ran every test and conducted all possible research before we embarked on any attempts to blend our magic. If you recall, before the accident we were entirely unsuccessful, in any event.”

“Yeah.” Potter still looks cross about that. He’d always been so certain it would work. He clears his throat and looks up, his voice unusually serious. “The thing is, Poppy thinks that kind of spell might work a bit differently if it was…lovers.” Potter winces at the word, which sounds stilted and formal coming from him.

Severus gives Potter a look which he hopes is sufficient to communicate his horror, despite the fact heat rises in his cheeks. “We are not – and nor have we ever been – lovers. I would hardly have factored such a thing into my research.”

“Well, exactly." Potter stares at Severus, a strange, sad sort of smile playing on his lips. “The thing is though, Severus, I’ve been in love with you for such a long time.”

Severus stares at Potter and presses his lips together. It’s as though he’s in another one of his dreams and if he reaches out to touch Potter, he’ll flicker and fall apart. His heart aches with it.

“I’m tired.” His voice is low, curt. He closes his eyes and swallows around the lump in his throat. Everything hurts. “Allow me some blessed peace, for once.”

“Yeah.” Potter’s voice is smaller than usual. “Alright then.”

Severus falls asleep with Potter’s hand next to his on the bed and prays for a dreamless night.

The next day the ward is empty and Severus tells Poppy he doesn’t want to receive any more visitors for the duration of his stay.

*

You find him by the Great Lake, knees pulled up to his chest. He’s just eighteen now – all scrawny limbs and clothes that don’t quite fit.

“Leave me alone.” He barely looks up when you settle next to him, his eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. “I’m thinking.”

“I suppose there has to be a first time for everything.” You nudge him but he barely cracks a smile. You wonder why it’s him – here and now. Under the stars over Hogwarts with his tie askew and his body still too small for his clothes. Have you really wanted him for this long? 

“It’s nearly night,” he says. It’s another gloomy day and warm kisses in the light of the sun feel like a lifetime ago. The clouds gather thick and heavy in the sky, grey and swollen with the imminent rain. He looks up at last, gaze torn from the ripples on the water – the only suggestion of the things that move beneath the surface. “Why does everything die?”

You can’t help but reach for him. He comes willingly, pressing close and shivering under a cool gust of air. “Not everything. There are some things even death can’t touch.”

“Are there?” He looks up and your eyes meet. His lips are soft and enticing, his cheeks flushed under the cool night air. He looks so sad. You brush his hair from his forehead and run a finger over his scar. He shivers and adjusts his glasses. They look old and broken. He’ll change those one day, when he’s a powerful Auror and the warmth returns to his pale skin. 

“Yes.” You allow your hand to linger in his hair. He leans into the touch and a heavy sigh escapes from parted lips. His eyes close and you can see his throat working, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You bring your lips to his cheek and gather him in your arms, bringing him nearer still. Beautiful, infuriating boy.

“I don’t think I want to feel sad anymore. I’m not sure I can.” He stares at you with wide green eyes. The stars hang suspended in the sky and you slide his glasses from his face. You already know that when you see him fight another thankless war you’ll come back here, to the memory of the boy you once knew. Even when he’s a strong twenty-something, he carries the shadows of the past with every twist of his features as he fights to save the world he loves.

He’s still watching you, lips parted and eyes fixed on your mouth. He looks surprised, mouth forming a small _oh_ of understanding. The heat in his cheeks no longer has anything to do with the cold night air. He shifts closer, tentative and shy. Shy doesn’t suit Harry. He’s a reckless force of nature, bursting with courage and conviction. His lips twitch into a smile and you wonder if he hears your thoughts, even now.

“Severus?” It’s a question, a plea and a promise. 

You answer him with a kiss.

*

“You must be looking forward to sleeping in your own bed.” Poppy’s cheerful as ever, buzzing around Severus like a fly. If he didn't have a certain amount of professional respect for Poppy Pomfrey, Severus would dearly love to hex her.

“A little peace and quiet wouldn’t go amiss.”

Poppy tuts under her breath. “You’ve had ample peace and quiet. Too much, if you ask me. I really think you should reconsider this situation with Harry.”

“You know nothing of our situation,” Severus mutters.

“I know more than you think.” Poppy folds her arms. “You’re aware he’s no longer at the Ministry?”

Severus jerks his head to look at Poppy, a peculiar knot forming in his stomach. “What the devil do you mean he’s not at the Ministry? He’s Head Auror – he’s Harry bleeding Potter. Next you’ll be telling me he’s taken up crocheting.”

Poppy shakes her head, her lips pressing in a firm line. “I understand he’s agreed to a sabbatical to work on his house in the country. He’s not been in London for weeks. This whole mess has been very hard on him.”

A twinge of guilt makes Severus swallow. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to witness Poppy’s disapproval. “I’m sure Potter knows how to entertain himself without sitting at my bedside.”

“Well, you’d think so – handsome young man like that.” Poppy’s tone is sharp. “But it’s a bit tricky when he’s so tired all of the time. He’s kept awake by dreams of something he desperately wants. Something _someone_ has led him to believe he can never have.”

Severus opens his eyes and stares at Poppy. “What on earth has the little twit told you? I’m surprised I haven’t received a visit from Skeeter as Potter seems so free with intimate details of the workings of my mind.”

“He told me because he was worried about you and he thought I might be able to help.” Poppy gives Severus a look. “If it makes you feel any better he swore me to secrecy.”

“What precisely did he tell you?” The knot in Severus’ stomach tightens.

“Not a lot.” Severus is sure Poppy isn’t telling him everything, her tone brisk. “Those dreams weren’t exactly easy for him. They hit him with such force during the day when he was working on Ministry business. He was quite unwell for a juncture.” She gives Severus an injection with a little more force than is necessary. “Not to mention the sleep he missed during all those nights he spent here, worrying.”

“The dreams are nothing more than a product of my injuries. The magic – whatever it is – will fade.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Poppy watches Severus as he swings his legs slowly out of the bed. Her stern expression softens and she pats Severus on the shoulder. “Goodness, Severus. How many years have we known one another? Are you really so determined to make yourself unhappy?”

“Perhaps it’s what I deserve,” Severus murmurs.

“Ah.” Poppy squeezes Severus’ shoulder, her voice soft. “Then what of Harry? What does he deserve?”

Severus chooses not to reply.

*

Spinner’s End is too quiet.

Everything is just as he left it, gathering dust. Severus picks up a stray piece of parchment on his desk and runs his thumb over the familiar scrawl.

_Gave the place a bit of a tidy. H_

Of course there was a time when Harry came and went as he pleased. When they were _friends_. Severus crumples up the paper and throws it into the nearest bin. Clearly no one had cause to visit for the last month. The papers on his desk remain in untidy piles and there’s nothing fresh in the pantry. He throws out a little milk, masking the pungent smell with a flick of his wand. With the windows open, the cool breeze of the day winds its way through the house, sending the dust into the air, where it twists and turns in the sunbeams.

Severus watches it moving in the light before casting murmured spells which make cleaning far less arduous than getting on his hands and knees and dusting.

When the house feels a little more habitable, Severus walks to the shops and purchases a half pint of milk. He takes his time, breathing in the floral accents in the air and the crisp scent of spring on the cusp of summer. Even through his dark jumper the sun warms his back and the familiar comfort of daylight spreads through his bones.

He underestimates the distance and, on his return, Severus finds his walk a little harder. He closes his eyes with a wince and takes slow, painstaking steps.

“Bugger it.” His breath huffs from him in a wheeze and he reaches out for something to grasp onto. His fingers curl around a warm arm, tanned from the late spring sun. “Let me guess. You happened to be in the area?”

“Something like that.” Potter’s voice contains the barest hint of humour. He wraps a strong arm around Severus until he’s upright again, offering his arm for the duration of the walk. “I’d Apparate us but I reckon Mrs Higgins would have something to say about that.”

“Let the old biddy talk.” Severus glares pointedly at a nearby house, watching the curtain twitch. “If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s nosy neighbours.”

“She called me your young man, once.” Potter sounds pleased as punch and he helps Severus along. “She told me I’m too good for you.” His voice dips, teasing. “Apparently you’re a bit strange, what with the odd plants and the sex dungeon.”

“I don’t have a dungeon, you impudent child.”

“No, but I didn’t want to tell her it’s just a boring potions laboratory. Where’s the fun in that?” They reach the front door and Potter helps Severus with the key, helping him inside. “Cuppa?”

“Please.” Severus slumps on the sofa, closing his eyes momentarily. With a shudder he lets the now familiar pain ebb and flow through his body. 

“Here.” Eventually Potter returns with a couple of biscuits he’s managed to rustle up from somewhere and a piping hot mug of tea. Severus accepts it gratefully and takes a steadying sip. The liquid is soothing and sweet on his lips. It slides down his throat, warming him through. The hot, sweet tea is familiar like lazy morning kisses and the sticky press of marmalade-covered fingers against skin. Severus closes his eyes and affords himself a moment.

“So.” Severus raises his eyes to Potter, who’s staring at him intently. “You happened to be in the area?”

“Something like that.” Potter’s cheeks bloom pink. “Plus, Poppy said I might find you at home. I thought I might be harder to turn away if I came with a gift.” 

“A gift?” For the first time, Severus notices a thin piece of card next to Potter’s seat.

“It’s a photograph. A Muggle one. I took it the other night at Godric’s Hollow.” Potter hands the photograph to Severus. It’s a beautiful shot of the night sky and the trees at the back of the Hollow stretching upwards. The sky is dotted with hundreds of stars of all different shapes and sizes. The picture has been carefully mounted on card and, when Severus turns it over, there’s a short note on the back.

_For Severus. Love, H_

Severus swallows and he brushes his fingers over the photograph. Just as they always do these days, the stars take him back to his dreams of Harry. 

“It’s…thank you.” Severus hopes Potter believes the roughness in his voice to be a direct result of his injuries. When he looks up to see the way Potter’s beaming, he resigns himself to the fact he can’t seem to keep the fondness out of his voice these days or the desire from the way he watches Potter. “I understand you’re taking a sabbatical.”

“Yeah.” Potter nods. “I’d always planned to do something a bit different for a bit, it’s just never been the right time. Now seems as good a time as any.”

“The dreams have been making you unwell.” It’s a statement, not a question. Severus knows Poppy would have told him the truth.

Potter flushes. “Not exactly. They make me tired. Unhappy, sometimes.”

“Why?” Severus’ heart drums in his chest and he’s not entirely sure his broken body can take Potter sitting in the sunbeams talking about matters of the heart.

“Because I don’t really want them to be dreams.” Potter shrugs and his cheeks stay hot but his gaze never falters. “Maybe because you pushed me away. They’re worse when I don’t see you, I think.”

“They changed.” Severus speaks quietly, his eyes fixed on Potter. “Did they not?”

“Yeah.” Potter lets out a choked laugh. “I was so awkward then, wasn’t I? Eighteen and I didn’t know a damn thing. I was sad about everything.”

“You lost a lot in the war.”

“So did you.” Potter tips his chin, eyes fierce and determined. “So did everyone.”

“Some more than most.” Severus stands because looking at Potter is too much. He finds an empty frame and puts the photograph on his desk where he knows he’ll spend most of his time. When he turns, Potter’s watching him curiously.

“You should come out and see them sometime. The stars, I mean.”

Severus holds Potter’s gaze and eventually he nods. “Perhaps.”

The tension eases and they drink the remainder of their tea in companionable silence.

*

The air is fresh with newly fallen rain, the skies dark and heavy with clouds. You’re somewhere you only half remember. It’s a small village in the middle of nowhere, post-card perfect and quiet. The streetlamps flicker and small moths flutter close to the light – wings beating against a hard glass shell.

He’s at home. Of course he is. He’s been waiting for you, tentative and flushed. He’s just as you imagine he might be when he’s relaxed. His legs are clad in loose tartan cotton, his chest bare. 

“This is new.” You speak in soft, low murmurs when you’re together. The door closes behind you, shutting on the outside world. You trace your fingers over the phoenix on his chest – its wings spread in glorious flight. 

Harry shivers and presses close. “Yeah, it’s new. Do you like it?” He sounds hopeful and a little uncertain.

“Very much.” You’re free with words because you can be. It’s only a dream, after all. You slide your fingers against his skin and it feels like too long since you touched him. You walk together through the kitchen and outside, where the grass is damp and the air crisp and clear. 

“That’s it. Isn’t it brilliant?” Harry’s awestruck, staring up and looking at the stars. You take a moment to look at them too, watching them flicker and dance in the night. Watching stars reminds you of skies streaked with the colours of battle. It reminds you of nights in Spinner’s End, watching shadows and flames from the fire dance over Harry’s cheeks. 

“Magnificent. Truly…breathtaking.” You shift between Harry and the stars, keeping his chin angled up with a firm press of your hand to his jaw. The maneuver seems to be the right one from the way Harry bucks forward with a low groan.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” Despite the fact he’s breathless, he’s cheeky as ever. You glare at him. You both know you will, however cheeky Harry can be. You’d spend your whole life kissing him if you could.

You respond by angling your head and slotting your lips together. Harry’s tongue slides against your lips and you open your mouth to him. What begins as something slow and steady becomes something harder; breathier. You grip onto his hair, fingers shoved between the strands. You pull him close – closer – kissing and kissing him over and over until he’s panting and writhing against you. You suspect you’re panting, too – aching hard against Harry’s belly and urging him closer again even when you’re forced to break away for air.

The stars keep shining as you fall to the ground, quick spells cast to create a warm, cushioned floor. There’s something primal about coming together with Harry in dreams. There’s no concern about prying eyes or the damp from rain-slick ground. There’s no worrying about awkward undressing as clothes magically fall away with the careless flick of your hand. There’s nobody else in the world but you and Harry. 

When you’re both sated and bathed in the soft glow of the moon you ask, “What do you want from me?” 

Harry laughs, low, rich and warm. He brushes his lips to your chest and your heart _thump-a-thumps_ underneath his lips, treacherous and eager. You’re such a fool for him. Such a fool for this reckless, heroic boy who stole your heart when you weren’t even looking. 

He kisses you again, his lips above your heart. You wonder if he’s pressed close just to feel the erratic thud of your heart beating for him against his lips. He sighs, nuzzling your chest and nudging upwards until his nose is buried in the crook of your neck. He’s like a puppy – affectionate and eager to be petted. Because you don’t exactly have any complaints you oblige him, your fingers stroking through his hair until he’s nearly purring into your neck. His body is pliant, leg thrown casually over yours and the now soft weight of his cock pressed against your naked thigh.

You repeat your question again but this time there’s a tremor in the words.

“I just wanted you to see the stars.” His words are half-formed things, mumbled against your skin. He’s going to be unbearably warm, wrapped around you like a blanket. You don’t even care. “I thought if you liked them, maybe you’d stay.”

You can picture Harry putting together the cottage piece by piece. He’s talked before about coming out to Godric’s Hollow on weekends and spending endless hours putting together a house from old rubble and new bricks. His vastly improved magic has him building with ease, advanced wards and magic humming through every new layer. He takes his time with it, changing the layout and making something old into something new – washing away memories of those difficult things he wants to forget while taking a bit of his parents’ legacy and breathing new life into it. You don’t tell him how remarkable you find his fortitude and perseverance. You wonder how much of it is Harry putting his own new foundations in place after the war – one brick at a time.

He asks if you have any tips. You tell him to change the layout to get the best of the daytime sun streaming through the kitchen window. There are few things finer than a good paper and a lazy Sunday brunch. He agrees and tells you he plans to shuffle things around so the master bedroom will have the best view of the night sky. 

“This has never been about simply restoring a house. You were building a home.” You’re not sure if Potter’s still awake as you say it. 

“Of course I was.” Harry looks up, eyes wide and clear in the darkness. “Now it’s just the family I’m missing.”

Your heart clenches for him and you can’t resist stealing another slow, sweet kiss. “Do you require a particularly large family?”

Harry shrugs, a smile playing on his lips. “I thought I did, once. Not anymore. I think I just want a person. Someone who wants to watch the stars with me. I’d like that.”

“You’re far too easy to please,” you mutter. You imagine Harry Potter putting out advertisements for stargazers in the _Prophet_ and a flash of jealousy claws through your body. Your skin burns with the idea of Harry with anybody else, sharing slow kisses and pointing up at the sky. 

“I, too, am fond of the stars.” You say it because you can, here in the quiet night when it’s only a dream. 

“Yeah,” Harry says with a smile in his voice. “I know.”

*

Potter yanks open the door, his cheeks flushed and his hair awry. His expression falters when he sees Severus with his hand raised, ready for another round of knocking on the door.

“Bloody hell, Snape. It’s four in the morning. I thought it was a Hungarian Horntail crashing into the house the noise you were making.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. What on earth would a dragon be doing in Godric’s Hollow?” Severus pushes past Potter. Godric’s Hollow looks the same but the cottage itself has changed – the layout mercifully different since it was home to Lily and James. He’s curious to see Potter in tartan trousers, pulling on a plain white t-shirt to hide his chest before Severus can see if the phoenix tattoo is real or just part of a fantasy. 

“What on earth are you doing in Godric’s Hollow, more to the point?”

“You invited me over, did you not?”

“For supper. Breakfast, even. Not for a chat at four in the morning.”

“You were asleep?” Severus can’t help but be surprised. After the last dream he had woken more energised and awake than ever. 

“Fast asleep, thanks. Most people do that at night.”

“Any interesting dreams?” Severus shuts the door and pockets his wand.

Potter flushes to the roots of his hair. “One or two. But I reckon you already know that or you wouldn’t be here.”

“We can’t continue like this.” Severus Summons what he dearly hopes is a decent Firewhisky, pursing his lips when a bottle of Cointreau comes hurtling in his direction. “What the blazes is this?”

“I use it for cooking. What are you _doing_ here?”

Severus tries to ignore the way his stomach flips when Potter mentions he can cook. He had Potter pegged as the Muggle takeaway sort or a ham and cheese sandwich to eat on the run sort of man. The thought of Potter spending time in the kitchen and settling down on his own at an empty dining room table sends his heart beating out of control. He growls at himself and forces the impromptu images springing forth to the recesses of his mind. The idea of him and Potter in any kind of domestic bliss is nothing short of lunacy. 

“Snape?” Potter’s cross, arms folded and eyebrows pulling into a frown. “What the bloody hell are you doing here? I’ve asked you three times now.”

Severus sniffs and makes his way towards the room he assumes is the kitchen. He’s hoping there might be tea. “I was in the area. I’m here to fix this problem of ours. It’s become increasingly apparent this is something which requires your assistance.”

“You think?” Potter rolls his eyes and folds his arms, staring at Severus with a mulish look. “I could have told you that weeks ago. It’s not the kind of thing that needs extensive research. Pretty bloody obvious if you ask me.” Potter Summons two mugs and unscrews the top on the liquor, pouring two small measures. 

He shoves one towards Severus, who sniffs the sugary orange liquor with trepidation. “You expect me to drink this?”

“There’s tea, milk or that. I’m guessing you like hot chocolate about as much as you like Cointreau. Bottoms up.” Potter gulps down his drink like a shot and winces, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “That’s _vile_.”

“It’s from your drinks cupboard, not mine.” Severus takes a more tentative sip and has to agree. “Tea, I think.”

Potter’s mouth drops open and he stares at Severus before letting out a growl of annoyance and throwing up his hands. “No problem, it’s only four in the morning after all. Care for a biscuit?”

“There’s no need to be flippant.” Severus takes a seat in the large kitchen area, taking in the setting. It’s the kind of kitchen he can imagine bathed in the sun at the height of summer – just as he suggested so long ago. He can almost smell food cooking and hear the rabble of Weasleys young and old running through the rooms. It gives him a rush of unexpected warmth which travels through his body. “This house…it suits you rather well.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Potter turns and gives Severus a look of surprise. “It took ages to get it back to something I could live in again.”

“The hard work appears to have paid off.” Severus drums his fingers on the counter while Potter makes the tea. “I must apologise for my behavior in the hospital. I was unwell.”

“Nope.” Potter puts down two piping hot mugs of tea and gives Severus a look. “You seemed like your normal self to me.”

Severus lets that one slide with nothing more than a scowl at Potter. “Can you tell me what you experience when I’m dreaming?”

Potter flushes and he stares at his tea, turning the mug in his hands. Eventually, he looks up and pulls a face. “I can, but I’m not sure you want to hear the specifics.”

Severus nods, holding Potter’s gaze. “I suggest you let me be the judge of that.”

Potter looks miserable, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s like I’m watching someone’s memories. They’re fuzzy round the edges and I’m completely immersed in it at the time, but I’m watching scenes playing in front of me. I’m not _in_ them.”

“I can assure you, you are.” Severus keeps his voice low but Potter looks at him sharply.

“I feel it, you know. It’s why it’s different to memories. I feel what you’re feeling – what they’re feeling, sometimes.” Potter’s really blushing now. “That can be inconvenient.”

“I can imagine.” Severus clears his throat and looks away, flashes of the dreams coming to him unprompted.

_Slick, hard and wanting. Pressing against you. Your name on his lips in a sigh of ecstasy and your hand around him, bringing him to climax. Deeper, falling into him and kissing him until he’s shaking beneath you and all you can hear is please, please, please._

“Do you think there’s something wrong with us?” Potter’s hesitant and he tops up their tea. Severus is appalled to see Potter has invested in a tea-cosy covered in lions. He really is the most infernal Gryffindor imaginable.

“I don’t believe the dreams are harmful, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sort of. I thought there might be something wrong with us – something that caused the connection in the first place.” Potter’s lips twitch as he clocks the way Severus looks at the teapot. “Anything wrong, Professor?”

“Ridiculous boy.” Severus focuses on Potter and waits until he’s swallowed his sip of fresh tea. “I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with me. I do, however, wonder if there isn’t something wrong with you.”

“You’re the one that’s been laid up in a hospital bed for three months.” Potter’s offended, frowning again and fierce looking.

“And _you’re_ the one making heartfelt confessions at my bedside.”

Potter stares and then – miraculously – starts laughing. “You’re right. I must be bonkers.”

“Indeed.” Severus tries not to huff too much at that but then Potter’s chair shifts and the next thing he knows, Potter’s fingers twine slowly into his. “Oh.” He stares at their joined hands, a little lost for words.

“Oh,” Potter agrees. When Severus looks at him, his eyes are suspiciously bright. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Despite his words, Severus squeezes Potter’s hand. No. They’re not very good at this. But Severus hasn’t had much practice with matters of the heart so he’s not exactly sure what _being good at it_ might entail. Being loved by a reckless, irrepressible force is quite unexpected, all things considered. Severus hadn’t planned much beyond a Knockturn boy from time to time and a little solitude before his inevitable demise.

“Can you feel that?” Potter’s low voice brings Severus back to the moment. The spark through his veins is something more than the shock of arousal or the tingling sensation of being touched again after so long. It slides through his veins, warm and powerful. It’s sunbeams on his back and the memory of a long-forgotten trip to the beach with his mum when he’d curled his toes for the first and last time in hot sand. It’s the lap of salt-water waves against his bare toes and the flare of heart, hope and goodness that’s so unmistakably Harry. “I can feel…your magic.”

Potter sounds awestruck and Severus is back in the present, wondering how his magic feels to Potter. He’s used his magic to kill, injure and seek revenge. His magic isn’t going to feel like hot sand on a summer’s day. 

“How does it feel?” His voice is cold, preparing himself for the inevitable look of disgust and disappointment.

“Cold.” Potter’s fingers clutch tightly onto Severus, refusing to let him go. “Behave. I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s cold, like…comforting. Sometimes I’m so hot I think I’m going to burn up from the inside. I feel like my skin’s too tight or my head’s too full of things. It’s soothing. It’s _powerful_.” His voice dips into a whisper and he’s looking at Severus, eyes wide. “It makes me feel safe.”

Severus extracts his hand from Harry’s because he’s not sure he can focus with the hum of magic distracting him from his thoughts. 

“A minute,” he breathes when Potter protests. He holds up his hand and gathers his thoughts. “I came to discuss the dreams.”

“I remember.” Harry’s focused on his tea again, his brow furrowed as he thinks. 

“I believe they’re designed to help people communicate when they’re apart.”

“People?” Harry looks up and raises his eyebrow. He’s smiling again and Severus isn’t sure if he wants to hex him or kiss him.

“ _Lovers_ ,” Severus growls.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Potter smirks into his tea and sits back, contemplating Severus. “We haven’t been apart, though. Not really.”

Severus traces his finger over his lips and stares at Harry. “We’re hardly _together_.”

Harry’s eyes widen momentarily. “Oh, I see. So do you want to stop them?”

“No.” Severus shakes his head and the tension leaves Harry’s body. “However, we need to learn how to manage them. How to block them on occasion and how to use them to our mutual advantage. I believe they’re intended to strengthen bonds and keep one another safe. Eventually, I believe they will help us to respond to one another’s magic. There’s already a little evidence of that.”

Harry nods, his expression serious and his jaw firm. “What exactly is it you’re offering me? Are we going to work on this as colleagues? Friends?”

Severus swallows, heat in his cheeks. Damn Potter and his insatiable need to define things. He’s been privy to Severus’ most vulnerable moments over the course of the last three months. The very last thing he should require is for Severus to embarrass himself further by articulating his intentions out loud.

“Is it really necessary to ask?”

Harry nods, jaw still set. “You’re the one saying dreams don’t mean anything. I’d like to hear it from you while we’re awake for once.”

Severus’ jaw works. Potter is infuriating beyond words. “I don’t believe the magic is intended to work between colleagues or friends. I believe it requires a different kind of relationship.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stands, holding out his hand to Severus. “That’ll do. Come on, then.”

“Potter, it’s nearly dawn and we have much to discuss –”

“Later.” Harry tugs Severus along and, for some reason, Severus goes willingly. “Some idiot woke me up at four o’clock and I’m knackered. We’re going to sleep.”

“Oh,” Severus says. He can’t identify when exactly he lost the ability to speak in full sentences, but his words appear to have been pushed right out of him.

Potter leads them to his room, where they lie side by side until Potter shuffles closer and curls against Severus.

It’s a long time after that Severus arranges the blankets to cover them both and lets the heavy weight of sleep overtake him as the first light of the morning sun bathes the room in light.

*

He’s eighteen again, leaning against the walls of the castle and watching as you get closer.

“Evening.”

“Potter.” You glare at him – or try to. It’s difficult when his smile is sun-warm even on a chilly autumn night when the sky is hung with stars.

“Any idea why I’m eighteen again?” Harry looks up when you’re close enough to touch. He’s on his tiptoes suddenly and kissing you with dry, hurried lips. You steady him and he pulls back, tugging at his tie. “I’m sure I’m better at this when I’m older.”

He’s good at it anytime, not that he needs any kind of ego boost. You like this Harry. He’s lost that haunted look and his smile’s easy and wide. His hair is messier than ever and you give it an affectionate rumple to make it stick out more wildly. He grins and runs a hand self-consciously through it.

“I don’t need much help making this look worse.”

“No,” you agree. He huffs and you try not to be thoroughly charmed by him. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head and presses close, his hand over your heart. “No need. I can feel it, remember?”

You know it, now. Why he’s eighteen. He’s in your moment. Right here, under the dreaming spires and another glorious midnight. Here, under velvet skies and chaotic stars. This is where Harry came to help rebuild the rooms at Hogwarts everyone forgot about after the war. This is where you watched him put together his other home, piece by piece.

You remember that first shoot of tentative hope growing in your belly as you saw this broken, haunted boy rebuilding the places people had forgotten. He passed by grand statues bearing his name without a second glance. He paid the vast Great Hall and gilded offices no mind. Instead he sought out those rooms thick with dust, blood and heartache. He used his magic to strengthen crumbling walls and he did it alone, working in silence and speaking to house-elves and ghosts. 

Hope is a dangerous, fragile thing. You seek his lips and wonder if perhaps he’ll rebuild you, too. It isn’t so long ago that you were one of those forgotten rooms. 

_Death Eater! Murderer! Get the Dementors to give him a Kiss._

Harry shudders against you and you wonder if he hears. He takes your wrist and feels your pulse. He kisses the Mark on your arm and it’s horrifying and humbling all at once. It makes you want to weep for him and for you. 

“Harry…”

“You’re not a forgotten room,” he says. “You’ve always been my favourite place to be.” 

It makes you want to cry, fat tears which would embarrass you both enormously. You chase away the wave of emotion with a kiss. Your heart beats so loudly you’re sure he can hear it – feel it pounding out of your chest. You take him in your arms and promise to keep him safe in those dark spots in the shadows where you’ve always found solace.

You’re warm at last and his kisses taste like magic.

*

“Severus. God, Severus.”

Severus wakes to find Harry nudging him with his nose, placing damp kisses on his collarbone. He groans and the sound of it travels the length of Severus’ body. He has to remind himself where he is – in Godric’s Hollow – sunlight streaming through the window. He’s in Harry’s bed. He thinks.

“Is this a dream?”

“No, it’s not a bloody dream. Kiss me, will you?” Harry sounds amused and eager all at once.

“Hmm.” Severus says, which is as good as a yes. Harry’s lips connect with his and this isn’t the breathless, practiced kiss of their dreams. This kiss is sleep-warm and urgent. Harry presses close to Severus, a gasp leaving him as his cock finds friction against Severus. If it wasn’t so blissfully _good_ Severus would laugh at waking up to Harry Potter practically humping his leg.

“I felt it.” Harry’s eyes look damp, his smile wide enough to take Severus’ breath away. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time. Since then. Since before. I didn’t know-”

“Potter.” Heat rises in Severus’ cheeks and he stills Harry’s movements by tipping him onto his back and settling over him. “Please let’s never speak of that dream again. It appears my dream self is an insufferable romantic. Please don’t expect a similar outpouring of emotion from me during any waking moment.”

Harry huffs with laughter but he accepts with a nod. He slides his hands into Severus’ hair and presses up to capture his lips in another kiss. “Can we fuck instead, then?”

“Cheeky brat.” Severus slides his hand along Harry’s side, enjoying the shiver which travels the length of his body. The sun and Harry’s magic make a heady combination. It’s intoxicating. 

He kisses Harry again, slow and deep. He takes his time to lick into Harry’s mouth and groans at the slide of Harry’s tongue against his own. It seems as though Harry’s keen to push proceedings along, rocking into Severus and murmuring pleas against his lips. He’s going to enjoy making Harry wait on occasion – taking him apart slowly with strokes of his fingers and his tongue. 

The undressing is less elegant than the dreams. Severus pushes his hand into the waistband of Harry’s pyjamas and wraps his fingers around Harry’s length. Harry thrusts into his fist with a hiss, sliding his hands down Severus’ back. In his eagerness to get undressed, Harry knees Severus in the groin and snorts with laughter, his _sorry, sorry, sorry_ making Severus laugh despite himself.

“This bit goes better when you’re dreaming.” Harry echoes Severus’ thoughts. His cheeks are flushed and his hair wild, light perspiration on his forehead. There’s no tattoo on his chest – just scars from a hundred battles, dusty pink nipples and a light tan from working outside on Godric’s Hollow. 

“In a manner of speaking.” Severus unbuckles his belt before Potter can injure them both further and slips out of his clothes, leaving them pooled on the floor. “In other ways…” He touches his fingers to the scar on Harry’s forehead. It’s hard to imagine any dream that could be better than the way Harry’s looking at him with such intensity. 

“Severus.” Harry swallows, his voice low and husky. “ _Severus_.”

Severus captures Harry’s lips in another kiss because he’s really not capable of words. He helps Harry slide back on the bed and settles over him. He takes his time exploring the crevices and raised lines on Harry’s body. He tongues his way down to Harry’s belly button and grips his hips, nuzzling lower until Harry’s hand tangles in his hair. He runs his tongue over the tip of Harry’s cock and gathers the salty pre-come at the tip. Harry smells delicious. Musky and masculine, the trace of soap from his last shower still faint on his skin. 

Severus murmurs a spell, hoping he’ll have better luck with lubricant than the whisky and bites back a chuckle when three half-used bottles career in their direction. 

“Cherry, mint and…regular.” Severus arches an eyebrow at Harry, who groans, throwing his arm over his face.

“I don’t do this a lot, if that’s what you’re asking.” He shifts his arm and looks at Severus, his cheeks flaming. “Not with company, anyway.”

Severus bites back a groan at the thought of Harry stretched out and pleasuring himself. He wonders if he has toys. Perhaps he uses them on himself and one blissful evening he might consider letting Severus watch. Severus can think of few things he’d like to see as much as Harry stretched out and lost in his pleasure, caught between embarrassment and arousal while Severus kisses away his flushes.

Severus smirks and puts the two flavoured bottles to one side. He shifts up and kisses Harry’s hot cheek and the corner of his mouth. “I hope you’ll consider showing me sometime.”

“Yeah, I…” Harry’s cock twitches with interest and he bites back a groan. “Please, Severus.”

Severus stops teasing, finally slicking his fingers and taking Harry deep into his mouth. He’s not small by any means – thick and long enough to make the task at hand a challenging one. Severus relaxes his throat, Harry’s groans and whimpers telling him he’s doing something right at least. He pushes a slick finger slowly into Harry and relishes the tight heat of him. He works his tongue over the base of Harry’s cock, letting him thrust lightly into his mouth as he adds another finger.

By the time Harry comes in thick, hot spurts, he’s writhing and clutching the sheets – breathing in ragged puffs and pants. It’s really rather something. Severus slips his fingers from Harry and moves up to chase another kiss, which Harry returns with abandon.

“Now it’s your turn.” Harry grins and nudges Severus onto his back. He makes his way down Severus’ body before looking up. 

The sun pours through the window and casts gentle shadows on Harry’s face. Severus rubs his thumb over Harry’s cheek and against his bottom lip, watching him back. His heart swells and that first shoot of hope now feels like a fully-fledged forest.

“You are really…quite something.” There’s a husky note to Severus’ tone and his emotion pours into the still space between them.

“Yeah.” Harry leans into Severus’ hand, resting his cheek on his palm. The look he gives Severus is open and bright, his magic humming in the room around them. When he sighs and lets out a slow shudder of pleasure, Severus wonders if Harry’s feeling his magic too – cool and strong – sliding through the length of his body. “You’re really quite something, too.”

Harry’s small smile tells Severus the unspoken words are clear. He presses kisses to Severus’ stomach and then takes him into his mouth until there’s nothing else Severus can think about but Harry’s lips, Harry’s tongue and _Harry, Harry, Harry_.

*

You find him, standing in the small garden and looking at the sky.

He’s dressed in robes this time, the Ministry’s finest. He’s whispering spells – his wand tracing lines against the darkness. There’s a hum of power from him, a confidence you’ve often envied.

You slide your arms around his waist and the magic stops, the air still rich with it.

“Hi.” He’s still so young sometimes, even when he’s casting complicated restoration magic in his Auror robes.

“Hello.” 

He turns in your arms and your breath catches. You can’t remember a time when your dreams weren’t full of him.

_Tell him, with your heart beating restlessly. Need him with your dying breath. Need him with your living ones. Love him. Let him know. Tell him in dreams if the pain of rejection makes you wary of telling him when he wakes. Learn every inch of him and find your heart in his hand._

_Open your fist. See how willingly he’s given you his._

You watch the stars burn in the sky together. You wonder if you could cast a Patronus now. You haven’t tried. It doesn’t seem as important, anymore.

You close your eyes and pull him close. The grass is fresh summer green, damp from an unexpected shower. The air is clean with it and the moon is full-orbed and splendid, casting its silver light on the private garden.

“Kiss me?” He’s demanding, even in your dreams. But you want to, so you do. 

You stay there until the morning sunlight wakes you.

You and Harry under the brilliant night sky and the faded glow of the restless stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment here or at [Livejournal](http://snape-potter.livejournal.com/3618806.html), [Insanejournal](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/snape_potter/1570239.html), or [Dreamwidth](http://snape-potter.dreamwidth.org/873213.html).


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